


The Seeker

by Madame (McKay)



Category: The Who's Tommy (film)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 06:22:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10916112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McKay/pseuds/Madame
Summary: The Who's Tommy. Events from the POV of one of Tommy's acolytes.





	The Seeker

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 1999.

She arrived at the Camp with fifty pounds in her shoddy, beige faux-leather purse and a faint glimmer of hope nestled at the bottom of her soul. The queue at the entrance gate stretched on for what seemed like miles, but she silently took her place at the end and clutched her purse--her only baggage--against her chest. The man in front of her cast one vaguely curious glance over his shoulder when he realized someone had approached him from behind, but he flickered his gaze over her disinterestedly and turned round again, not to look back.

She was not surprised.

The line moved slowly, but she had expected that, and she was used to waiting; for this, she would wait forever if need be. She hoped the camp would be worth it; she hoped he would be worth it.

She hoped.

When the gate finally loomed in sight, she rummaged frantically in her purse for a few pound notes, clutching them tightly in her fist even though she knew she wouldn't reach the entrance for several minutes yet; by the time she handed the money over to the jumpsuited Camp Worker, it was damp and wrinkled, but he took it nonetheless and waved her inside.

Hesitantly, she inched along while the other new arrivals flowed around her like water, jostling their way past her in their eagerness to see the Camp, to reach the merchandise stands lining the walkway to the main building, to reach the guest bungalows; they nudged her shoulders, accidentally elbowed her, inadvertantly shoved her further along the path, and all the while she stared around her with wide, frightened eyes and clutched her purse ever tighter.

Everywhere she looked, she could see his image now--the familiar eyes, so pale but kind; the golden halo of curls; the lips, parted as if he were about to speak words of enlightenment that would penetrate her heart and fill it forever.

There he was: on shirts, on posters, on albums. All scattered among strange headpieces and little pinball wands that reminded her of a modified crucifix; part of her wondered if that were blasphemous, but she knew it didn't matter. Jesus, if He existed, wouldn't care. He didn't care about anything else, least of all her.

Perhaps Tommy would.

Finally she mustered the courage to join yet another line, this time at one of the merchandise stalls where she timidly plucked a headpiece from the shelf since everyone else seemed to buy one, and she didn't want to be left out, and then she picked up--furtively--an 8x10 picture of him, planning to keep it under her pillow in hopes that it would bring wise dreams.

The cashier leered at her when she reached him, grinning lasciviously, revealing missing teeth; instinctively, she recoiled, feeling her skin crawling away from this repulsive, oily little man. Undaunted, he rang up her purchases and growled out the total, holding out his grubby hand for the money which she tried to give him without actually touching his grimy fingerless glove, much less actual skin.

When he returned her change, she fled.

Was this the type of person she would find here? Did that--grotesque imp claim to be changed, transformed by Tommy's presence? Impossible!

Darting frantic glances around, she considered escape; they could keep her money. She just didn't want to be disappointed again--

"Why are you here, child?"

The words were kindly spoken, and she whirled to face the speaker, her heart pounding in her chest, her breath stifled in her throat. She was suffocating in her own fear, but the woman who stood nearby, waiting for an answer, radiated a calm that soothed her enough that she could reply.

"Because I have nowhere else to go," she said at last, and the woman nodded, her eyes filled with compassion.

The woman seemed familiar -- and abruptly she recognized her as the woman she'd seen on the telly. Tommy's mum. Nora Walker.

Relief suffused through her, and her grip on her new treasures relaxed marginally.

"Everyone I love has left me," she added, knowing Nora would understand. "My parents died, my husband left with another woman, my sister stole my inheritance and disappeared, and Jesus acted as if He didn't even know I was there." she murmured as she lowered her gaze to the grass at her feet. "I need the Camp."

What she didn't say was that she needed Tommy, but Nora seemed to hear it nonetheless.

"Do you love Tommy?" Nora asked, reaching out to touch her cheek with gentle fingers.

She lifted pain-filled eyes to meet Nora's, agony lining her face.

"Yes..." she whispered, resisting the urge to fall into Nora's arms--or run away.

"Tommy loves you too," came the serene reply. "You're safe here."

And for the first time in longer than she cared to remember, the faint bit of hope nestled in the bottom of her soul took root and began to blossom.

~~~~

She spent what was left of the day wandering around the camp in a way that was too aimlessly vague to be called exploring. Drifting from one part to another, she took in the sights, imprinting them on her mind: the tiny bungalows; the Camp workers visible everywhere, some bustling on their way to perform some task or other, some leading a Camper wearing his or her headpiece around by the arm; the low murmur of conversation; an occasional shout that startled her, almost making her bolt into hiding; and everywhere, of course, the pinball machines, hundreds of pinballs machines all with their bells ringing, buzzers buzzing and lights flashing as the players slapped the buttons and tried to raise their score.

As she lay in bed that night, she tentatively slipped her fingers under the pillow, touching the edge of the picture she had placed there; she thought she had spotted Tommy in the center of a large throng of people, some workers, some guests. But she had been too far away, and she couldn't be certain.

She had set the alarm clock for seven o'clock, then--in a fit of fretfulness that she wouldn't be ready in time--changed it to six instead. The new arrivals were to meet at eight; first came breakfast together, then everyone who didn't already have one of those odd headpieces would have fifteen minutes to purchase one--and then they would all meet with Tommy.

Sleep eluded her that night, and she was worried that fatigue would dull her brain, making her unable to concentrate on Tommy, on what he said, and she wanted more than anything else to hear and to understand every word.

She had to.

If Tommy said nothing, if his words were nothing--why, then there was nothing else left for her either.

She'd tried everything else: being a good child, a good wife, a good worker, a good church-goer. Everything she had previously sought to give her life meaning and her soul comfort had turned on her, sucking her nearly dry until she felt there was very little left rattling around beneath her skin at all.

Thus it was with a knotted-up stomach and clammy palms that she stood amid the crowd, waiting, waiting for Tommy to appear. Waiting for him to hear him speak, hoping for something worth clinging to.

He appeared--like a golden god atop the gleaming silver ball. The sun streaming from behind him seemed to form a halo of light around his slender body as he held his arms out-stretched as if to embrace them all.

Her heart leapt in her chest, and she strained forward, anxious to catch every word--and then he began to speak. His voice carried across the entire crowd, enthralling her, mesmerizing the listeners with his simple message: put on the headpiece and play pinball.

Awkwardly, feeling foolish and conspicuous despite the fact that everyone else was wearing one too, she slipped the device over her head, dropping the eyeshades into place, fitting the plugs into her ears and popping the cork into her mouth.

The sudden, black isolation frightened her; the world abruptly disappeared around her, and for one, wild moment, she nearly ripped the headpiece off just to be able to see something--to hear something again.

The gentle hand that suddenly grasped her elbow made her jump; filled with the irrational fear that it was the grubby little gnome from the merchandise stall who now held her arm, she had to squelch the urge to yank herself free. Instead, she drew in a deep breath and allowed the Camp worker to lead her.

When the worker finally released her, she instinctively groped for something to cling to, and her seeking hands met the smooth, cool surface of the glass pinball tabletop; she ran her fingers along the side, despair rising within her.

How was she supposed to play pinball when she couldn't see or hear? It was insane to expect her--to expect anyone to manage like this! Anger and frustration roiled in her head, and she could feel herself baring her teeth even though she couldn't hear her own outraged noises.

Madness! Madness!

With her senses muffled, she was trapped inside her own mind, feeling no more range than if she were in a narrow prison cell as images of her life rolled past on an endless loop.

Her life? No--she had not yet lived. She had merely existed.

The void--black and lifeless--stretched out before her, taunting, and she teetered precariously on the edge, feeling her balance uncertain.

And then...

She stopped struggling. She stopped raging. She stopped. And she felt.

In the real world, her fingers closed around the handle that would--once she pulled it back--release the pinball. She drew it back with every ounce of strength she possesed--

In the blackness, a light flared, shining round perfection illuminating her path.

\--a tug of resistance let her know she'd pulled it as far as it would go--

She followed, the blackness fading in the wake of silver light.

\--and then she let go.

The entire world coalesced into that gleaming silver ball, and it was she who sent it skittering across the table.

It was she who had the power to control it; she slapped at the buttons, sending it flying across the table against and again, banging into the obstacles in its path. Her awareness expanded, and instead of tumbling into the abyss, she soared above it; the ball remained on the table, never slipping between the flippers.

And then that truth which had for so long eluded her finally came clear: the power had been within her all along, waiting and hoping she would learn how to use it.

How simple it all was! And how ridiculously difficult she had been making it!

If she could have, she would have laughed, pure, sweet good cheer that was--for once--not hesitant or muffled.

Suddenly, she was brought back to her body by a rough shove from one side; her fingers slipped off the buttons, and without thinking, she fumbled for them again, hoping to recapture the rhythm of the game, but it had been thrown off, and she knew without looking that it was over.

Another shove--from behind this time, and she let out an involuntary gasp as the impact threw her against the machine hard enough to make the cork pop out of her mouth. The eyeshades were also askew, and she peeped out from beneath them.

Chaos met her sight, and she lifted the shades completely, her eyes growing round with amazement at the carnage being enacted before her. Everywhere, people were running and pushing and knocking over the precious machines, smashing in the delicate glass, breaking the scoreboards, dimming the lights and silencing the bells forever.

She wanted to scream--NO!--but her voice would not work. She saw people carrying sticks and rocks, and she tried to run, to escape the growing insanity of the crowd, but instead she found herself immersed in the tide of people, thrust and buffeted along with the teeming mass of angry guests against her will.

She tried to stop, to resist the tide pulling at her; in vain she struggled to move against the crowd, in vain she tried to escape. One moment, one person blinded with fury--why? she wanted to ask, but the words still wouldn't come--one person who brooked no obstacle to his goal, and she was violently shoved aside. Stumbling, she fought to keep her balance and failed, tumbling to the ground where she became nothing but another bump in the path. Her humanity was lost to her, and when the crowd finally ebbed, she remained where she fell, broken and bloodied and still wondering why.

Silence reigned, although she wasn't certain if her earplugs were still intact or there was simply nothing else to hear. The mob had done its damage and fled. Pain streaked down her neck every time she tried to turn her head, but she looked around anywhere, surveying the wrecked remains of the balls, the machines, the other people caught in the undertow.

Soon she would join the silence, but she didn't mind, really. Not as much as she thought she might. She had seen the truth. It was too late now to live it, but she had seen...

Instinctively she flinched when a dark shape loomed over her, blotting out the sun, but then she saw the light streaming through pale curls, and as she squinted up, she saw blue eyes gazing down at her kindly from a battered, bruised face.

Reaching down with infinitely gentle fingers, Tommy removed her headpiece and tossed it carelessly aside.

"You're free," he whispered.

"Yes." Her voice was a raspy croak, but it was hers again at last.

He smiled at her then and bent to kiss her forehead.

"Go in peace," he said, and with one last, tremulous smile, she did.


End file.
